


The three men Sansa dates (and the woman that treats her right)

by mystical_lesbian



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Happy ending for Sansa, Modern AU, Sansa has shit luck with men, men need to leave her alone, my first attempt at this so please be nice, sansa and margaery deserve better, sansaery for the win
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 17:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17512499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystical_lesbian/pseuds/mystical_lesbian
Summary: Sansa has never had the best experience with love.A look at Joffrey/Sansa Petyr/Sansa Ramsay/Sansa with Margaery giving her the happy ending she deserves





	The three men Sansa dates (and the woman that treats her right)

Sansa had never had the greatest experience with love.Romantic love, not familial love. Her parents had doted on her from the moment she was born and her siblings and she were as close as siblings could possibly be, even if they argued and drove each other insane sometimes.

 

No Sansa had enough familial love to fill oceans. Romantic love on the other hand was something completely different.

 

Sansa’s first foray into romance was with Joffrey Baratheon. Looking back on it Sansa wanted to scream at the young girl she had been for being so stupid and falling for him.

 

Joffrey had been the devil disguised as an angel. He looked like a prince from the fairytales her mother read to her and acted like a knight in shining armour her dad had promised her.

 

Sansa had just turned twelve when they first kissed and it was everything the movies said it should’ve been. Stars, and butterflies and her foot popped.

 

Sansa had been twelve and a quarter the first time he called her an idiot.

 

She had brushed it off. Joffrey was thirteen and wiser than she was. He loved her, he said so himself, he was just having a hard day.

 

She used those same excuses when he told her she was nothing more than a stupid girl.She was lucky to have him, he’d spit at her, no one else would put up with such a stupid girl.

 

And Sansa knew he was right. She was so lucky to have him in her life.

 

It hadn’t taken him long to hit her. Their first argument, which had really been Joffrey screaming at Sansa and she apologised for whatever it was she had done wrong. He had smacked her across the face with the back off his hand, his ring catching her lip and splitting it.

 

Sansa hadn’t cried. She had been too shocked to do that. Joffrey had taken a few deep breaths before asking if she was okay. Telling her he hadn’t meant to hit her, she had drove him to it. He’d never do it again, promise.

 

Sansa soon learnt how easily promises were broken.

 

Sansa had been with Joffrey for a year. A year of people telling them how they were such a cute couple, how young love was so adorable. Her siblings didn’t like Joffrey but put up with him because Sansa loved him.

 

Sansa didn’t love Joffrey, Sansa was scared off him. His cruel, viscous words that had her believing she was worthless, an ugly, naive, stupid, little girl. His hits keeping Sansa too scared to do anything.

 

Robb saved her. Her darling big brother who swore the day she was born, staring at the pink squirming baby that he was told was his little sister, that he would always protect her.

 

After a long day stuck with Joffrey being tortured for his and his friends sick amusement, Sansa had gone home expecting an empty house which she could cry in.

 

Robb had been in his room. Hearing Sansa sobbing like her whole world had fallen apart he did what all good brothers would do and immediately went to check on her.

 

Sansa, bare faced and nothing to hide the bruises, hadn’t realised Robb was there until he put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

 

Sansa flinched so hard she yelled at the pain she caused her already throbbing ribs.

 

In between harsh sobs that racked her whole body Sansa admitted everything to her big brother. Her real Knight. She would never forget the haunted look in his eyes as he realised her had failed to protect her. That some bastard had been hurting his little sister for a year and he hadn’t realised.

 

Sansa had to talk to her parents and the police and what seemed like a million different people but Robb was always by her side, holding her hand, and letting her know he would never allow Joffrey to hurt her again.

 

Sansa’s next attempt isn’t even an attempt. She’s still not ready, still wakes in the night screaming, pleading. Yet she still finds herself fourteen and at a new school as a victim once again. 

 

Petyr Baelish is a teacher. A teacher who speaks with nice, soft, pretty words and promises Sansa he will look after her. A mentor.

 

A mentor who lingered too long in a hug that made Sansa uncomfortable, who’s hand strayed into dangerous territory when they were alone. But a mentor all the same.

 

Joffrey had Sansa convinced no one would ever care for her and Petyr Baelish had convinced her he did.

 

His pretty words warped everything and lessons she was getting on how to spot monsters, how to protect herself now Robb was at university seemed like the greatest knowledge Sansa could ever have. She hadn’t realised for every lesson he taught her she seemed to feel more and more helpless.

 

Still he had promised to help her and her Mother had spent the last year telling Sansa there were still good people in the world.

 

Petyr Baelish said he loved her and you don’t hurt the people you love.

 

Petyr Baelish could never love anyone but himself though.

 

Later when people found out Sansa would hear the word Grooming thrown around.

 

It was when he put his tongue down Sansa’s throat she knew something was wrong. He pawed at her breasts as he held a hand tightly around her throat and Sansa guesses Joffrey was right. He had said the only reason someone would want her was for a good fuck.

 

She was docile as Petyr moved his lips against her still one as he grinded his body forcefully against her trapped one. When his fingers attempted to undo her jean buttons that’s when she heard someone yell.

 

Theon, her foster brother, tore Petyr off her and hit him. And hit him. And hit him. Sansa just stood there.

 

Later her mother would cry as she saw the hand shaped bruise on her pale neck and her father would thank Theon over and over again for saving her.

 

Again Sansa would tell a story but this one would be tinged with confusion. She still wasn’t sure how all of this happened. How someone she trusted, her mentor, could do this to a person.

 

She guessed her mother was wrong. There were no good people.

 

The third time Sansa knew what she was getting into. She figured she owed Theon.

 

Theon’s father was now back in the picture. His terrifyingly strict father who in no way, shape or form would ever accept his only son being gay. Which was fine, Theon said, there’s no way he’ll find out.

 

Except Sansa soon discovered that he would. Ramsay Bolton knew and Ramsay Bolton was a psychopath. Ramsay Bolton liked to hurt people in any way he could for fun and he would definitely tell Theon’s father.

 

Unless you offer me something else. Ramsay had whispered sweetly. As sweetly as he could anyway. Sansa knew Ramsay was just as much a monster as Joffrey. The only difference was Ramsay didn’t offer her sugar that turned out to be salt, he just poured the salt down Sansa’s throat.

 

Sansa remembered Theon pulling Petyr Baelish off her. Remembered insistent fingers trying to rid her of her trousers and offers herself to Ramsay instead.

 

Ramsay just smiled widely back at her. Later admitting the tortured cries of a girl are just so much nicer than anything else in the world.

 

Sansa hadn’t cared too much. She had already given up on herself ever finding the decent people in this world her mother still swears exist. His harsh words were nothing new to her, his lessons and hits also bearable. Sansa was a survivor she knew that.

 

One thing she hadn’t expected, still somewhat naive and hating herself for it, was when Ramsay forced himself into her. He never kissed her like Petyr did or even Joffrey. Ramsay pushed her down onto her front and ripped her skirt off her. With no preamble or warning, Ramsay pushed himself inside off Sansa and stripped away the one thing she felt she had left.

 

Sansa could feel him still, not in the sense of still feeling the pain in her heart, although she did. She could still feel him inside of her pushing and pulling, still hear him grunting in her ear. Asking if Theon was worth it.

 

Sansa soon learnt how to survive Theon’s attacks. Learnt how to disappear working her own mind and not even feel the things happening to her body. Every bruise, cut, lash with a belt, rape, bite, Sansa knew how to ignore it all.

 

She didn’t know that every time she did a little piece of her died as well.

 

Sansa had been sixteen when she offered herself to Ramsay Bolton. Sansa was eighteen when she got away.

 

To this day she was surprised it had lasted two years. Ramsay Bolton was notoriously known for getting bored easily. But he did always say Sansa made the sweetest of noises.

 

Two years, four months, one week and three days later Ramsay Bolton finally got bored of Sansa and Theon’s little secret.

 

A night of hell for Sansa ended with her in a hospital bed. She still doesn’t know where her strength came from, after Ramsay went all out on his final night with his darling Sansa causing her pain she didn’t even know she could feel. He slipped a knife into her stomach and thanked her for all the fun they shared.

 

Sansa had somehow managed to stumble her way onto a busy street and was quickly rushed to hospital.

 

She hadn’t listened to the extent of her injuries, and had never asked what they had been. Sansa had been stuck in hospital three weeks after Ramsay Bolton’s attempt to kill her. Though she was unconscious for most of the first one.

 

She never told anyone why she had chosen a relationship with Ramsay and she never would. Her family put up with so much for her the least she could do was protect them.

 

When she could bare hearing his name without vomiting Sansa had been told the night she was admitted Jon had found Ramsay and had beaten him it took three police officers to drag Jon off him. Sansa spent that night tucked into her brothers arms and sleeping peacefully for the first time in years.

 

At twenty two Sansa was prepared to spend life alone, with only her family to love her as she loved them.

 

She was okay. Sure she was still a mess from Ramsay, waking up in cold sweats, still feeling him pressed against her, sticky breath on her bare, bruised flesh. But she was alive, she’d think as she rang her fingers along the scar on her stomach, and taking things one day at a time.

 

She had no relationships since Ramsay and was certain she never would. Her only three attempts were hell why would she put herself through it again?

 

Margaery was the answer to that question. Margaery was the answer to most questions.

 

Sansa, who built herself to be cold and unfailing as her beloved north, found herself melted by the sweetest rose in the garden.

 

She hadn’t even realised it happened. Margaery went from a stranger, to a friend, to Sansa’s best friend without Sansa even realising.

 

Margaery understood without Sansa ever saying anything, that her past was painful and how hard it was for her to trust anyone. And every time Sansa would ask

Margaery what she wanted from her Margaery would simply answer with only for you to be happy.

 

It took a long time for Sansa not to scoff at that. Happiness belonged in fairytales and Sansa had known fairytales weren’t real for a long time.

 

And yet Margaery seemed to have made it her mission to make Sansa happy. Surprising her after classes with Lemon Cakes and that special northern tea Sansa adored that could only be found in one cafe, thirty minutes from the university.

 

Margaery gifted her flowers everyday. A different kind, explaining their meaning and how to care for them.

 

Margaery walked her to and from class even if it meant she’d be late for her own.

 

Margaery asked Sansa for her opinion on almost everything and never let her get away with a shrug or a whatever you want.

 

Margaery knew Sansa no longer believed in story book romances but was determined to show her they were real and one was waiting for her whenever she was ready for it.

 

Sansa didn’t kiss Margaery until she was twenty four and still some part of her believed it was all a lie. But Margaery only ever took what Sansa offered and never demanded more

 

She never made Sansa feel like a fool, or hurt her with words, or raised a hand to her. Margaery refused to even raise her voice, sometimes going as far as to treat Sansa like a skittish animal.

 

Margaery was helping Sansa heal. Her family saw that. Her parents loved her and Margaery had a standing invite to every gathering, even if Sansa wasn’t going to be there.

 

Robb, Jon and Theon had been the hardest ones to get approval from. They had seen Sansa at her worst, the things she kept from their parents, the night terrors she still had. But after watching Margaery calm Sansa down after a particularly bad panic attack quicker than any of them had ever managed it they soon welcomed her.

 

Arya hadn’t really known much of Sansa’s past relationships. Sansa being the dutiful big sister begged to keep the gory details from the younger ones. She knew the basics though, knew her sister had been hurt far too much. Margaery was still a little nervous around Arya after the talk the youngest Stark girl gave her.

 

Bran and Rickon were just fine with Margaery, she was pretty and made Sansa smile, something their big sister never did much.

 

Sansa was twenty five the first time she believed Margaery when the older girl said I love you.

 

Sansa was twenty six when she completely let Margaery in. Telling her details she hadn’t even told her family.

 

Sansa was twenty seven when she agreed with her mother that good people existed.

 

Sansa was twenty eight when she caught herself believing in fairytales and story book love.

 

Sansa was twenty eight when the words True Love made her smile.

 

Sansa was twenty nine when she married her True Love in a wedding fit for two princesses.


End file.
